


Crystal musing (drabbles)

by bravevesperian



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, no one will understand half of it and it will always be unfinished lol, this is really just personal drabbbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-08-20 08:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravevesperian/pseuds/bravevesperian
Summary: Purely a small and ever-growing collection of tiny drabbles relating to my G'raha alt in-game and things that in-game experiences might trigger me to want to write. Mostly personal etc.





	1. Chapter 1

"What was it like?" The voice pulled the Warrior of Light from his quiet thoughts. 

The campfire at Saint Coinach's Find always seemed small and frail, no matter how well they stoked it. In the icy blue-violet light of the crystalline landscape, no heat seemed to be enough to change the mood. Cid and the other Ironworks hands had wandered off to the Crystal Gate and Rammbroes had disappeared stubbornly into his tent full of dusty books. It left him more or less alone with his thoughts-- and their celebrated Warrior of Light.

G'raha Tia stood near where the other Miqo'te had settled near the fire, his arms crossed and his tail swishing slowly. 

"Pardon, w-what was... _what_ like?" The question was echoed back at him; painfully earnest as always. 

G'raha swallowed a scoff and frowned enough that his lips pulled into the pout that he was so well-known for. How often did he have to translate himself to others? But this man, a vaunted hero, seemed to often need more explanation than his peers. He then realized with sudden a flush to his cheeks that he had left the subject of his question out entirely. 

"You left your tribe willingly. To seek fame and fortune or. Adventure, aye?" He relaxed his posture and paced closer, trying not to be so stand-offish. "I s'pose I'd probably have done the same, given enough time to make the choice." 

"I'm not... sure I follow." The Warrior of Light responded, and G'raha joined him, perched on his toes in a crouch before he flopped down to sit in the half-crystallized grass. 

"I... mentioned that my tribe didn't take kindly to the sight of my eye," He motioned to the right side of his face, the eye in question constantly shrouded in part by the curtain of his crimson hair. 

"So, my father secured me an opportunity to go to Sharlyan to study. My aptitude you see, was enough to garner master Louisox's support. And the rest I suppose is history." He smiled a bit at that. 

Every time G'raha had the chance to feel depressed about losing his tribe, he just as quickly reminded himself of the fact that he was an Archon-- the best in his field, and all of this because of that so-called-curse that he had been born with. 

"Oh, well in that case... I suppose. Well, It's really very boring in comparison. There is much and more to see beyond the walls of some dusty old village, don't you think?" It was worded gently, left open ended as though to encourage the Archon to continue speaking his mind. 

"Mm, I admire it really. No-- I think we may be kindred spirits! Ah but... I have chosen to be an observer. 'Tis _your_ name that shall be writ large upon the pages of the history books, yours and the Garlond Ironworks' lads of course." G'raha smiled at him, and for a change it reached his eyes.


	2. 2: Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light faces his anger.

The Tower hummed around them as the Exarch sat nestled in his blanket. Moreso though, he was drawn to the body heat of another: a sensation that was beyond rare for him. He had gone so long not letting anyone close enough to touch that he had hardly expected to embarrass himself as a man touch-starved might. Well. He was always a bit embarrassed when it came to being vulnerable. He could remain stoic and cold in the face of the horrors of war, but a simple coy smile from the right man could make him come undone. 

His Warrior leaned against him, arm draped over one knee. Ruby eyes wandered the expanse of his inner arm, littered by scars of countless shape and design. Each one told a story that he had been absent for, dreaming through them like a fairytale prince in a mystic tower. A soft breath through plush lips, the silence weighted with words unspoken but chomping at the bit. 

"So," It was the Warrior who spoke first. His tone made the Exarch's crimson ears go back. 

"One thing. I must needs know-- did you know when you chose to... to go to sleep. Did you know what you were doing?" 

He felt those familiar eyes, world-weary and sharp as any blade piercing into him. The Exarch's ruby eyes flicked up and then away, unable to hold his gaze. He was still so shy around him without his hood to hide behind. He'd put so much into his facade that without it he found himself nearly defenseless. 

"I suppose it might be called some kind of clairvoyance. Unei and Doga's will imparted unto me opened my mind in a way that I couldn't explain even if I tried. I knew that I must do this. If I did not then I would lose you," He let out a self deprecating laugh. 

"All of it, over me?" Came the response, low and rough. 

"Yes... Yes. All of it.Time and space rendered moot. A city birthed in your image, from the first laid brick." The Exarch responded sharply. 

"You're a damned lucky fool that it worked out as it did." The bitterness was tangible. The Exarch didn't blame him. 

He swallowed around a lump risen in his throat. "There was no changing my path. For you... I would d--"

"Die? I don't want to hear it." 

"I was going to say that I would do anything," He corrected, dejected. 

"Good. I saved you, so your life is mine now." 

Now, he stared at him-- his previously wilting gaze locked onto the other's dark expression. He seemed to have forgotten to breathe. 

"I--" G'raha dipped his head. "I _am_ yours," 

In some round about way, this was what he had wanted all along. 

The Warrior turned from where he sat, suddenly _on_ him, his hand at his throat. The breath he had neglected came as a gasp as he tumbled backward. 

"You don't die until I say you can, you hear me, G'raha Tia?!" The command was a near shout-- his voice broke suddenly, teeth gritted as what could only be the stinging heat of tears splashed down upon the Exarch's face. 

The Exarch's startled expression softened, and crystalline fingers came up to brush at his Warrior's face. Ah-- _G'raha Tia_. The name hit him with the force of a bullet-- a sensation he was now intimately familiar with. It always did. 

"I am yours," He repeated, dulcet and husky. 

The Warrior let out a sound that was a mix between a sob and a growl of frustration. The Exarch didn't understand what more he could give-- and instead reached up to gently hook his hands behind his Warrior's neck, pulling him down until their lips met. 

"It's not fair--" Muffled, hardly anything but unintelligible sounds swallowed by G'raha's plush lips. "I want it back.The time-- the years. _Our years_. This happened all wrong. I should've been with you." 

With a soft thump, the Warrior leaned his forehead against the Exarch's, dewy lashes fluttering as he sucked in a breath. 

"Come and claim them," His hand had slipped to ball in the bedding beneath G'raha. 

"What?" 

"I said: Come and claim them," The Exarch's voice rose enough to hold some confidence. 

"Oh, I'll stake my claim, Raha-" He snarled. 

The cat and mouse, G'raha knowing that he could bait him into a chase-- it made him feel like his younger self, overflowing with mischief and vigor. He flashed a beatific smile in the close proximity, the eyes of a man having a religious experience upturned to the vaulted crystalline ceiling as their lips came together once more. The Warrior's teeth sank into his lip, freeing a soft cry that belied a near scoff.

"Look at you. You're like a zealot at the feet of his god. Now... get to worshiping." There was anger there, real and true and white-hot. But it was what The Exarch wanted: he wanted to be punished for the lies he had told. 

And so, his hands on crystal like scales became catharsis, and the Exarch's cries of pain and pleasure sang away the demons hanging between them. Kiss and stroke, bite and suck, hearts hammering and breath coming in short gasps as skin pressed to crystal. G'raha's sweet voice crying: "Thank you," and "_More_,"

Was it enough? Spent, heaving for breath, dripping in sweat, he found himself wrapped in the Warrior's arms. His damp hair was brushed gently from his face, soft kisses pressed to his cheek.

"Who is worshiping whom?" G'raha asked softly.

"I don't know anymore. Either way it is positively blasphemous," The Warrior answered darkly.

The Exarch's lips curled into a smile. "The Elementals can't hear you," he assured him. 

"Oh thank the gods," 

He found himself laughing, lost in the relief that he was being given some kind of second chance. 

"This time, I won't walk away." 

The warrior leaned in to kiss the light bruises he'd lovingly left on his throat. "I shall hold you to that." 

G'raha closed his eyes, exhausted and not giving a damn about being a sticky mess. He pressed closer, nuzzling into the Warrior's shoulder with a roll of his head-- from ear to cheek. 

"It is enough."


	3. 3. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The passage to The World of Darkness has been eliminated. The Dossal Gate has closed, its door sealed. G'raha Tia faces his fate, and himself.

The doors sliding shut and the locking mechanism that sealed them shook the foundations of the Crystal Tower. His breath, previously calm and steady came in short gasps. The moments ticked away, stretching on infinitely as G'raha Tia tried to come to terms with his sweaty palms, flanked by the twin waterfalls in the entryway. 

Ah, the first time he had come here after the Warrior of Light, he had felt so small-- as if the very structure might swallow him whole. The path had been cut all at once as he waited with bated breath beside Cid and Nero. How he had wished to be the first to see it-- and now here he was, surrounded by its marvels. 

His eyes like polished rubies wandered up to the jagged crystal monolith before him-- part of many access points to the megalith's processes-- and took a deep breath. The doors were already sealed. There was no turning back. 

From the moment that Unei and Doga had passed the core of their will onto him, his mind had burst in a technicolor array of information. Every synapse began to fire at speeds that were incomprehensible. He began to understand things lost to time, that made the Eorzea he knew appear so small and primitive. The present, past, and future melted within his mind's eye, and he simply knew: This is what he must do. 

From the moment they made their escape from the ruins of the 13th shard, he knew. 

His New Mind guided him through the interface, to the emergency protocols. Energy release, destructive arrays shut down. It continued to build an endless supply of energy from the sun even without Dalamud to strengthen the process. He could see, without exactly understanding how, the endless datalogs in perfect clarity, storing information for a ruler who cared not for its state in his slumber for thousands of years. 

That alone was incomprehensible-- the very fact of Xande's unholy immortality haunted him even now as he chose to follow the same path. His resolve faltered as he activated the teleporter. The Tower showed him the way, its musical hum like a guiding beacon leading him to its heart. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be out there, fighting side-by-side with those he had so grown to admire-- 

But this was his destiny, and his alone. 

He opened his eyes in a hall not unlike the ones he had walked on the way to the Emperor's throne-- but this one ended in a door. If he had to guess, this was the path that wound around and around the massive crystal heart of the Tower-- at its very core. He had not expected there to be a door leading inside.

His mind on fire with the present, past and future-- a voice rang out, but he thought he imagined it. 

_"Let expanse contract, eon become instant--"_

G'raha opened the door before him. 

There, between him and his goal: A crystalline portal, stood a man cloaked, bearing a staff of orichalcum and auracite. This, his new mind had not prepared him for. A rare surprise in his path forward-- 

"Who?" It came out in a low echo. His own voice sounded strange to him. 

"That is of little consequence. I have come merely to help you succeed. This is the Ocular, at the very heart of the Tower. And I am the keeper of its key." 

Strange. He'd thought the Warrior of Light had eliminated all threats-- well. In that case, perhaps this odd man was not one. 

"Come take it. It is time." Only then did G'raha realize that the man before him seemed rather tired, his breathing labored. He was clearly not well-- but the staff was being held out to him now and he knew in his heart he must take it. 

"Do not fear," the man continued. "You shall accomplish all that you set out to do. I have given all that I have and more to ensure it." 

Suddenly, a wave of terrible sadness washed over him and he didn't know why. He didn't know this stranger, but his heart ached at whatever trials had brought him here. 

"And now," He spoke as G'raha took the staff in his hands. It sounded as if speaking was harder for him now-- and he sunk to one knee. "Now, I am unbound." 

A light emitted from his right hand that G'raha could now see was the same crystalline blue as the rest of the tower-- and then suddenly was flesh-and-blood again. The man laughed to himself, breathy and distant as he collapsed into a sitting position. 

"Quickly now. Reach into the Tower's heart. It shall sing you to sleep, my friend." 

"But-- what about you? Are you alright?" He asked, gripping the staff he'd been handed white-knuckled. 

"I am... more alright than I have been in an age. I too, would like to sleep, G'raha Tia." 

"A-Alright." 

"There is a chamber beneath the floor here. If you call it, it shall rise up for you. Quite cozy, though it doesn't look it." 

G'raha nodded, mystified, and did as he was told. 

He sank into his mind-- into the memories of his ancestors-- and gravitated to the large interface panel on the wall. He would soon come to know it as the Ocular's crystal eye, and a portal. G'raha touched his hand to it, a myriad of data that was impossible to parse flitting about his mind. A chamber? There it was-- stasis. 

"When you go to sleep, I shall see that the Tower follows suit." Came that weary voice from behind him. 

"But. How? No one but I have the capability--" 

"It was a gift. Just as I have given you the Key..." 

G'raha looked to the staff he had nearly forgotten was in his hand. A key? He supposed it did look a bit like one. He placed his hand upon the panel and there was a soft static sensation across his skin-- before there was a sharp hissing sound from the center of the room. There, in the heart of the golden circles that decorated the floor, though there had been no seam a moment before, a circle had opened-- and from it rose a small platform, big enough to contain a person. Like some high-tech sacrificial altar. 

The nerves eating at him brought him to the precipice of terror now, his tail agitated and ears back as he looked upon the thing. Tears pricked his eyes, laced with regret. He had been a lonely child-- and he had found camaraderie again, for a moment. When he woke all he knew and loved would be dead-- if he woke at all. Would anyone know where to find him? As if to mirror the strange old man, he sank into a crouch, hugging himself. Oh, what weakness. If only that vaunted Warrior could see him now, for all of his false bravado. 

"You must needs be strong for our Warrior," Came the stranger's voice again-- as if he knew what was going through his head. "I promise-- you shall see them again."

Would that be enough? That was all he wanted. The promise couldn't be true, but oh, how he wanted to believe it.

Something told him he must waste no more time. 

There was a place at one end for something to be inserted and he realized-- that he now held it in his hands. G'raha chanced a glance at the odd man, now leaning against the side of the raised platform, his knees pulled to his chest. He seemed impossibly young and old all at once, though he could not see his features beneath his hood. 

"Yes. Now is the time to sleep. I wish you sweet dreams, G'raha Tia."

Numbly, as though on auto-pilot, he unfastened the leather armor on his forearms and shins, leaving them on the floor with his bow and arrows. They would not last the time, anyway. He then settled the staff into the place that he had noted before. It fit perfectly, as a key in a lock ought to have.Then, he stepped up and onto the platform before laying down, eyes upon the Ocular's ceiling. 

The cloaked man shifted and placed his hand upon the small access panel-- and a field of light enclosed him within. He fought a spike of panic as the chamber filled with something like liquid or perhaps just pure, condensed aether, and he began to feel his consciousness slip. The last thing he saw was a pair of ruby eyes staring back at him from beneath that hood. 

Outside, the Tower's light diminished to a dull glow. Inside, a man sat alone as age finally claimed him. 

"And so, my great work is finished-- and begins again." He knew he would have chosen the same thing in a hundred timelines. 

His form, inundated with aether, began to break down and disperse, but as he closed his eyes one last time, he saw his Warrior's face in his mind's eye-- and returned to the Lifestream, leaving naught behind but the sleeping Allagan Heir and the odd costume he had worn for a hundred years.


	4. Mt. Gulg

The maw of exhaustion, yawning and meteoric had risen up and threatened to gulp him down like so much fish. Kholusia always smelled like fish, at least he thought so-- he wasn't sure if up on the cliff face it was better or worse. Not that he was paying all that much mind to it in the end. His senses were terribly dulled, muted by the awful fishbowl sensation of utter exhaustion and sleep deprivation. It was the feeling of having a bucket turned over your head, of being shoved under water and held there. 

The Crystal Exarch looked down at his hands from within the sheltered cut-off of his vision beneath his hood and drew in a breath that took far too much effort. Teleporting may have seemed sensible, but now-- he couldn't risk more energy wasted. He was going to need every ounce in his reserves. 

Scattered remnants of stone and marble crunched beneath his sandals as he hauled himself up the path as quickly as his feet would carry him. Of course, the adventuring party had cleared the way. He had only made his move when the swarm of sin eaters that had been choking the skies began to howl and screech. The Lightwarden was under attack then. Vauthry would soon meet his end and so would this long, long journey. 

Past Vauthry's deranged creations, debauched human forms writhing in tangles of white marble limbs he ascended, one hand clutched in his robes to lift the hems as the crystal one used his staff to keep him steady. He swept the hem of Allagan silks up over snow white stone that had only ever seen the footfalls of a few. Incredible, this power of creation-- not something that a mere Lightwarden ought to be capable of. There were mysteries here that he might like to plumb but-- such opportunities were at an end for him, as all things were. 

The wind howled down the narrow path as he turned another corner, sure he ought to be short of breath if only the whole of his organs were still flesh and blood at all. The fatigue was there, even if the strain of the altitude was not immediately felt. The sheen of sweat that had broken out over his skin caused his hair to cling to his face no matter how many times he tucked it back beneath his hood. It was as if everything was trying to come undone. And what was to stop it now? Why bother? 

The conversation they'd had before the expedition haunted him. How he longed to lay his desires bare indeed. It would never have a chance of coming to fruition, but the impossible dream was what had kept him alive all these years. Maybe, just maybe, somehow-- but... no. He couldn't contain the light. No one could, not even the most vaunted of heroes. He _saw_ it now, with a fresh horror that spurred him forward. 

He heard the sound of a rough, dry laugh echo back at him from the marble arches as he arrived at the entry to Vauthry's gaudy citadel, the flashes and tumultuous sound of battle ringing out from the platform at the far end. His sudden realization had drawn the noise out of him-- he hadn't even realized it was his own laugh. 

He was no different from Emet-Selch in the end, he supposed. No different in his unyielding will and determination. They both had gambled on the Warrior being able to maybe just _maybe_\-- hold back the flood within. They had lost. But-- The Exarch was not disappointed so much as facing it with a quiet deaftness of the spirit. This was what he got. Someone like him ought not to survive when so many had already died only to see his wish be granted. His guilt weighed on him with more gravity than even the exhaustion that made his vision swim and the world twist beneath him. 

This. All of this for his wild, impossible delusion. And yet he had done it. Time itself stood as no barrier-- to be _Everywhere and Nowhere_\--

The land shuddered beneath his feet for real this time-- and he stumbled forward, jaw set. Determination renewed. The sky parted. Finally-- 

He picked up the pace as best he could along the winding path, nearly panting by the time he reached the final rise and stopped, waiting. The last of the Aether seemed to linger in the air before settling over him-- and then he felt it, tangible as the wind itself. A pulse as the light fought against its confines and the sky too, seemed to fight against itself. 

It was time. 

While he didn't have enough strength stored within him to do what he must-- the light itself would be enough to power the massive undertaking of tearing a hole in the fabric of space if only he could siphon it quickly enough. 

He felt the Scions' panic; their despair-- and he walked past them. 

"The combined power of every Lightwarden is too terrible a burden for any one soul to bear." He stated as he brushed past Alisaie. 

"--And so I shall relieve you of it." He'd rehearsed this a hundred times in his head, even as he had spoken in sweet dulcet tones of his dreams; dreams of adventure hand-in-hand that would never be realized. 

They would die with him now. Die like the people of a future which might now never come to pass had-- for him. This was penance. This was the only way he could right things. He had been the watcher, watched-- waited and bided his time long enough. 

He raised his staff, using the crystal that made up so much of his physical form to draw on the aether now corrupting his friend, his dearest inspiration. Alisaie's shrill cry barely reached him as that exhaustion tunnel-vision closed in. The Light felt like needles, a thousand paper-cuts-- but how was it any different from the hundred, thousand tiny wounds he'd already inflicted on his own soul from the moment the Ironworks had awakened him from stasis? This was his pain. His burden. 

_He_ did not deserve to carry it. The Exarch would not allow it. 

_You've suffered enough on my behalf._

"I will channel this profusion of power to the Crystal Tower and use it to travel to other worlds. As I have dreamed of doing ever since I first learned of their existence." The pain lanced deeper as he spoke, forcing the words through gritted teeth. 

It was an indescribable agony-- as if the very soul was being ripped apart, shattered and sundered from the inside out. Knowing now the extent of what he had laid on the Warrior's shoulders, the emotion caught as a lump in his throat, making his voice waver dangerously. 

"Who would choose to remain here in this dying realm, when they might go elsewhere and begin anew? Not I. And thus... thus did I _use_ you!"

It hurt to say nearly as much as the light piercing into him did. The Scions' reactions barely reached him through his paltry barrier, but he heard Urianger implore them to let him do what he must. To let him go. Good. That was enough. 

The Exarch drew in a ragged breath, desperate-- calculating. His eyes remained fixed on one point: The last thing he wanted to see before he cut that hole into the veil between worlds. The Warrior of Light and Darkness.

He remembered the first time he had ever laid eyes upon him suddenly; vividy. Trembling: nearly delirious with the aether coursing through him, he spoke again.

"At journey's end, an opportunistic thief makes off with the hero's prize," He began. "A paltry way to end a chapter, I concede. Yet your tale will continue and my role in it will be scarcely remembered."

That moment seared itself into his heart, into his memory-- as the Warrior's familiar eyes locked onto him and through the pain a look of realization dawned upon his face. Though he could barely move, he lifted his hand to reach out. What was left of the Exarch's heart nearly broke, throat tightening as he fought back tears. It was too late. Too late for that. In the end, his heart had gotten the better of him. 

How desperately he had wanted to be known. How desperately he had wanted to cast it all aside. But he knew this: they all would have tried to stop him. 

As the light continued to filter into him, swelling enough that he began to feel the _hunger_ taking root, he searched for words; for anything that might bring comfort. 

"Worry not. Whatever should become of me, I will be happy and free, safe in the knowledge that I have played my part." He had been prepared for this role from the beginning.

And even G'raha Tia had never feared death. The Exarch would hardly bat an eyelash at it. He stared it down now, and renewed his efforts. All of his carefully crafted glamour, his mask was gone in an instant. The light was ravenous, tearing him apart as he dragged it from one vessel and into another. 

The force of the aetherical burst caused a gust of wind-- and in a careless moment, everything he had given so much to hide was revealed with the simple shift of fabric. His hood fell away and the broken cry the revelation received tore at him more deeply than any corrupted aether ever could. 

"_G'raha Tia--!_"

The play of emotions on his face was undeniable-- and why bother trying to hide it? Not now, not after everything. He bit back the tears, and through the strain spoke once more: His farewell. 

"Thank you. For fighting for this world. For believing. Fare you well, my friend-- my inspiration." 

There were a thousand words unspoken, anguish hanging in the air between them when a sound deafening enough to break through the roar of aether in his ears rang out and with it a force. It was enough to push him forward-- he stumbled, staff slipping from his fingers though he willed it desperately not to. 

The stage had been set. Everything had been in place and yet... something... 

His thoughts ceased as his face connected with the golden gilt marble beneath him and the black swallowed him.


End file.
